


Getting to Know You

by Papillonae



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 17th Century, Belarus mention, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Lithuania mention, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:19:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16971069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papillonae/pseuds/Papillonae
Summary: Drabble. Ireland visits Warsaw for the first time and is tasked with learning more about Poland's history, but instead finds himself distracted.Written for Day 4 of APH Rarepair Week: History Prompt.





	Getting to Know You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Felicja_Julieanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felicja_Julieanne/gifts).



_Warsaw, 1693._

 

He had letters written to him of Wilanów Palace – of its handsome Baroque architecture, its spacious entrance court and garden. The descriptions therein did little to prepare Ireland’s eyes for the charm of Warsaw and of the palace itself.

The doors of the palace towered over him as he was escorted in. The exploits and victories of the monarch were illustrated in such great detail in the portraits and works of art that lined the halls. Ireland certainly hadn’t forgotten himself; he had always walked with purpose and adventure, and it was his posture and his simple scholarly dress that turned heads.

His escort lightly rapped against the door frame.

“Yes?” came a young man’s voice from within the chamber.

“Your guest has arrived.”

The court physician stepped out. It took him a moment to adjust his spectacles, to fully take in his eager guest. He looked down upon Ireland, and placed a familiar hand on his shoulder. A smile softened his worried features. Doctor O’Connor had been young when he left for France, and though it had been nearly three decades, Ireland still remembered him.

“It is good to see you,” Doctor O’Connor said.

Ireland felt the meaning of those words warmly sit in his chest, a sunny spotlight in a forest clearing. _I’d missed you. I’d missed home._

He clapped a comforting hand on the doctor’s back, and let himself be led inside.

* * *

At first, there had been polite conversations about the nature of the doctor’s research. In addition to medicine, he had as of late been studying the history of Poland with every intention of publishing this work. As Ireland skimmed through the manuscripts, he noticed gaps of information: annotations littered with questions, and no answers to add.

Soon they had regular audiences with the king, where they talked over business: of courtships and arrangements, alliances and issues. They talked of how relations were coming with Bavaria, and of an arrangement for the physician to start attending the king’s daughter, should things continue to go well.

Ireland met Poland among one of these audiences: he had been walking alongside his partner Lithuania as they greeted each guest in attendance. Ireland took Lithuania’s hand in greeting and noticed how his eyes seemed to look past him at something else. Someone else. He had been dressed in darker blues and silver – a stark contrast to Poland beside him, dressed in blood red velvet and gold braided trim.

When Poland took his hand in greeting, Ireland was struck by how cold they were.

“ _Éireann_ ,” he said, then added quietly, “…did I say that right?”

Ireland laughed in spite of himself. “Color me impressed. I take it you’ve been speaking with the doctor?”

“He has many interesting stories of France and Bavaria, but only fond ones of you.” He released his grip. “It is good to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

As Lithuania excused himself from the conversation, Ireland watched Poland roll his eyes. “There he goes again.”

“Where?”

“Over there.” Poland gestured over toward the dining tables, where there stood a tall, elegant looking woman with the palest hair Ireland had ever seen.

 “He never misses a chance to speak with Lady Belarus over there. She shows no interest in him, and yet he pursues her anyway.”

“Aye, he’s in love,” Ireland countered, matter-of-factly.

Poland laughed. “He’s a fool, is what he is. I would never be so persistent.”

“You talk as if you have never experienced love.”

Poland went quiet. They both watched as Lithuania spoke with Belarus, watched how her indifferent gaze remained fixed on the large windows, or the columns next to them.

“I would never,” Poland repeated softly as they watched Belarus take the arm Lithuania offered her. 

* * *

 

Doctor O’Connor figured the best way to learn more about a nation was to glean that information from another nation. It had been the only reason Ireland came to Warsaw: to interview Poland, gather information, and help edit the manuscripts.

In truth, he had become enchanted by the land during the few months he had stayed in Warsaw. The people were kind and devout, the kind of people Ireland felt warmest around. He had brought his flageolet and played for the children on the streets. The food and the folk dances comforted him, sunrises and sunsets were clear, and the reflection of the moon on the waters of the rivers and lakes had all but taken him under.

He had become enamored.

He understood what the doctor meant.

He had to know more.

Ireland had sent an invitation for an audience with Poland. Part of the reason had been to aid the doctor in his research, but perhaps part of it had been to speak more with him. They had carried polite conversations over supper, and occasionally their paths would cross on the palace grounds. Each time, he had been polite enough. They had made jokes and laughed together. The doctor had warned him that Poland wasn’t a big conversationalist. It was almost a lost cause.

It was a surprise that Poland had even responded at all – let alone agreed to a private audience.

Ireland presently smoothed out his borrowed emerald doublet to keep from touching his head; he’d spent a good deal of time tying his unruly hair back into a palatable low ponytail. He could feel the sweat of his palm gathering at the edges of the notebook in his hand. And then – a breath – and he knocked on his chamber door.

“You may come in,” Poland called out.

As Ireland entered the room, he saw faint candlelight flickering about the room. The brightest of it had gathered around the desk, where Poland was seated and waiting.

Many had boasted of Poland’s handsomeness in the sun: all golden hair and strong smiles. In the candlelit room with the midnight sky drawing soft light in through the window above, Ireland began to think differently on that opinion. He was beautiful, incomparable.

Ireland had to remember to breathe.

“Good evening, _Polska_ ,” he said.

Poland smiled at the name. “Your diction has improved.”

That such a compliment would rock him so nearly knocked the air back out of him. But he had requested this meeting for a reason. Ireland remembered himself.

“I am sorry to disturb you. I was hoping we could talk.”

“Of course. Please, have a seat.”

Poland gestured toward an empty chair beside him and shifted slightly in his own seat. “I assume you’ve come because of the doctor’s research.”

“…Yes, that was partly the reason.”

Poland combed through a lock of his own blonde hair with his fingertips. Ireland studied how Poland’s eyes kept shifting between him and the floor. “Well, what would you like to know?”

Ireland grinned and opened his notebook on the desk. He gently eased his chair over toward it. “Well, there’s no need for this to be so formal. We’ll share information: we can start with your earliest memories, I’ll share some of mine, and we’ll go from there. Sound good?”

A small, sincere smile returned to Poland’s lips. He sighed, almost relieved at the suggestion. “So, an early memory of mine… let me tell you about an old Duke I used to know…”

* * *

 

The two of them spoke long into the night, when the moon had made its highest ascent in the sky. The candlewax began to melt into the wooden frame of the desk, long after Ireland had abandoned recording his notes in favor of talking with Poland about the events that led them to each other.

Poland was radiant in the night. In the daylight, Ireland had noticed how reserved he was – how his charisma seemed forced, his gestures stilted and rehearsed. His eyes shone with each story; he spoke less of history and more of rulers and families, of hobbies he had picked up over the centuries, of other countries he had been acquainted with.

And Ireland knew this research would not help the doctor at all. In truth, this meeting had been more of a selfish endeavor than an academic one.

“It’s getting late,” Poland finally announced, “and you should be making your way back to your own chambers.”

Ireland looked outside and he laughed. “I suppose so.”

Poland made his way to take up the candle holder to hand over to Ireland – but Ireland had fluidly taken up the candle itself before Poland could even react. Its flame barely blinked with the movement.

 “I just have one last thing for you before I go.”

“…Yes?”

Ireland’s heart thrummed in his throat. “On the first night we met, we had spoken of love and fools.”

He remembered those words: _I would never…_ And yet, here he was – a bigger fool than Lithuania – offering a challenge. A chance.

Poland scrutinized him in the flickering light of the candle. “Yes, we did.”

He leaned in closer, taking in the surprise in Poland’s eyes, the scent of rose water on his skin as he gently touched his cheek lightly with his lips.

The heat rose in his face, and he studied Poland for a reaction, only to find him dumbly touching his cheek where he had been kissed.

Ireland laughed in a voice as light as cricket-song. “To tell the truth, I have been taken with Warsaw and her people. And with you. Doctor O’Connor wants to learn your history, but I am happy to learn more about the real you.“

It seemed as though Poland was lost for words. Then he smiled wryly. “You are being foolish.”

“So it would seem. I’m a foolish fellow.”

Poland snaked his arms around his shoulders and feathered a light kiss at his jaw. “Then we are two of a kind, _Éireann_ _._ ”

Ireland had hoped he wasn’t trembling so much. His lungs trembled into laughter and he wrapped an arm around him in return. “Please, call me Séan.”

“And you have permission to call me Feliks.”

“May I come speak with you again?”

“Send for me, and I will come to you next time.”

His notebook had been forgotten on the desk. The candlewax dripped hotly onto his fingers. Ireland had hardly noticed these things when in the dim moonlight, Poland had rewarded his foolishness with one more kiss goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> So, like with all my historical fics, I took to Wikipedia and learned some stuff!
> 
> Ireland-Poland Relations began in the late 17th century (to be more precise, around 1691-1695) when Bernard Connor (or O'Connor) M.D., an Irish physician, was tasked with accompanying the two sons of Jan Wielopolski back home to Warsaw. He was appointed court physician to Polish King John III Sobieski (still during the time of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth!) and his reputation grew when he correctly diagnosed the illness of the king’s sister. He also accompanied the king's only daughter, Theresa Kunegunda Sobieska, from Warsaw to Brussels for her arranged marriage to Maximilian II Emanuel, Elector of Bavaria in 1965. Connor went on to publish many medical dissertations, including "The History of Poland" (1698). That work was written mostly in letters of correspondence with trusted individuals of Connor and his assistants. One of whom is, in fact, named John.


End file.
